


Ice In My Veins & Revenge On My Mind (Love In My Heart & Blood In My Eyes)

by thinmint_writer



Series: Iron Widow [3]
Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Anti-Steve, Avengers - Freeform, Betrayal, Black Widow - Freeform, Broken Friendship, Dead Tony Stark, F/M, IronWidow - Freeform, Killed, Murder, Natasha Romanoff Has A Heart, Not super Graphic, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Revenge, Revengeful, Sorry Stony Shippers, Steve is the bad guy, Tonynat, angry natasha romanoff, avengeful, black widow has a heart, ex-friends, friends - Freeform, i can't help it I love this ship, natasha romanoff gets revenge, not graphic, steve must pay, this story hates steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 00:46:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18954505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinmint_writer/pseuds/thinmint_writer
Summary: "Avenging is my job, isn't it?"---In which Steve Rogers kills Tony Stark in Siberia, and Natasha Romanoff will have her revenge.





	Ice In My Veins & Revenge On My Mind (Love In My Heart & Blood In My Eyes)

**Author's Note:**

> I know a lot of people like Steve, but honestly Civil War made me kind of hate him. And for all you Stony shippers, I love this ship. It's a great ship; I read about it often enough, but I still kind of hate Steve for what he did to Tony. Also it's been established I'm obsessed with IronWidow so.... enjoy.

It was never supposed to happen that way. 

He was never supposed to die. 

They were never supposed to fight against their closest friends. 

It wasn't supposed to end with a shield in the chest of Tony Stark. 

But it did. 

Now there Natasha Romanoff stood, staring at his grave. She had helped Steve escape. She never thought he would go that far. He had killed Tony Stark. He had killed her fiancé. 

Of course she had seen death before. She'd been the cause of death more times than she can count, but this time was different. She was trying to turn her life around, but she never seemed to be able to. 

Death followed her. It haunted her like a plague. Wherever she goes, blood spills in her wake. Destruction follows in her footsteps, even when she doesn't want it. If she believed in such things, Natasha might believe she was cursed. 

So there she stood, staring down at the recently upturned ground behind the Avengers compound; in his will that was where he asked to be buried. He said a lot of things in his will. 

Left the entirety of the company to Pepper Potts. Left each of the Avengers a quarter of a million dollars, gave the rest to various charities; charities that condemn child abuse and help those in need, and such. Most of his possessions were either to be sold for more donation money or distributed among a few business friends. The rest of his possessions, things like relics and suit replicas, as well as FRIDAY and other AIs were given the Avengers. Even the same man that killed him. 

It all made death so real. The papers were signed, the people were informed, and the body was buried. Perhaps one of the only people to ever accept her was gone; six feet underneath the place where she stood. 

Maybe she could've stopped it if she tried. Maybe she could've saved him if she stopped him from going after Steve. Maybe no one had to die. But they did. 

Suddenly, Natasha felt a hand on her shoulder, making her jump a bit. "It's not your fault, Tasha." The voice was Clint's, and it was the voice that had been trying to comfort her for three weeks. 

The red-haired woman swallowed hard, digging her hands deeper into the pockets of her jacket, trying to fend off the cold. Her face remained still, and inside the pocket she gripped the ring he had given her only months before, feeling it imprint its shape in her palm. "I'm getting tired of saying goodbye to people." 

"Goodbyes aren't forever," the man behind her said softly. 

"You know forever is a lie," Natasha said coldly, jerking her shoulder away from hid touch. "Nothing lasts forever." 

"Not everything can be explained. That includes goodbyes; they just happen." 

"This can be explained," the woman snapped, raising her voice. "There is an explanation for this, and that explanation is that Steve Rogers killed Tony Stark. Left his own teammate, his own friend, wounded to die in Siberia." 

She turned to face her friend, and her face was filled with rage as he tried to reply. "Tasha..." 

"What kind of man?" she sputtered angrily. She took her hand out of her pockets and looked at the thin gold band she held. "What kind of hero kills his own friend over a petty argument? He went there to help, to try and get through their thick heads that he was on the right side. And they killed him! And you're right, it's not my fault, it's Rogers’. He killed him, Clint. You fought for him, we all fought for him, and he killed his own friend." 

Clint looked at her, saw her fervor and her anger. "Tasha, you know it's more complicated that." 

"Is it?" she snapped, absolutely furious. "Because it doesn't seem that complicated to me. We trusted him, followed his orders, for years. He went crazy and he killed the man I love. He killed his own friend. Steve Rogers did this." 

"He's suffering just as much as all of us," Clint whispered, holding out his hand to touch the woman again. She jerked away again. 

"You know they taught us something in the hellhole where I was raised," she began, turning back to face the grave. "Beware the person that stabs someone and tells the world that they're the one bleeding." 

"But Steve..." the man began. "He's the opposite of our enemy. He's our friend." 

"The saddest thing about betrayal is that it never comes from your enemies." 

"Tasha..." Clint tried again, his voice growing softer still. "He's sorry." 

She smirked cruelly, letting out a dry chuckle. "Is he?" She turned to face Clint again. "In all my years, I know I've done horrible things. I've betrayed and I've been betrayed, and I understand that neither side is enjoyable. But I've learned something about people; if they do it once, they'll do it again. Steve has no regrets. This wasn't an accident; this was murder." 

"So what, you're just gonna hate Steve now?" 

She shook her head. "I could never hate Steve. I only hate the fact that he turned out to be everything he claimed he hated." She took a step past Clint and began to walk back towards the compound. "Avenging is my job, isn't it?" 

Clint didn't say anything as he watched her leave, puzzled over the meaning of her last statement. Maybe he knew what she meant, and just chose not to say anything. Because maybe he knew deep down that she was right. 

\--- 

Natasha knew what she had to do, and she didn't hesitate to do it. 

For an ex-spy, the preparation was easy. 

She had helped Steve escape, she knew where he was. He trusted her, and that would be his final blow. Betrayal begins with trust. He was unsuspecting, because those that don't know the value of loyalty don't appreciate the cost of betrayal. 

Plane ticket to Hong Kong, paid for in cash. Duffel bag with a single extra pair of clothes, and a loaded gun covered with three bottles of shampoo to hide it. Fake passport, sunglasses to cover her face. She was ready. 

Told no one where she was going. "Just a small getaway." 

Told no one her intentions. "Just need a little break." 

Told no one who she was visiting. "Just an old friend." 

Told no one anything. "It's not all that important." 

And three days later, Natasha stood outside a run-down motel room in the slums of Hong Kong. Was she nervous? No. Was this necessary? Yes. 

She stuck her hand inside the pocket and felt the cool metal of her weapon. Her index finger traced lightly over the trigger, and then shifted the feel the ring she still wore. Natasha inhaled sharply before taking the final step towards the door, covered in chipped red paint, and knocking. 

A few seconds later, the door opened, and she saw the face that used to be her friend. The man that she had opened up to and told about her life. Natasha regretted that, because he didn't deserve to know her that way. 

"Nat?" Steve asked, confused as she had not informed him of her visit, even though she knew how to contact him. "What are you doing here?" 

She took a deep breath. "Something necessary." He didn't comment on the ominous nature of her words; that was Natasha to him. He opened the door a bit to allow her to step inside, and she immediately began to scan the room, making sure her plan would work. It would. She heard the door shut behind her, and she turned around to face Steve. "I need you to do something for me." 

"Alright," Steve figured, looking at her. He suspected nothing. "What is it?" 

Natasha took a deep breath and tightened her grip around the gun in her pocket. "I just want you to look me in the eyes." Steve did. "And I want you tell me that you murdered Tony Stark." Steve opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. "That's what I thought." 

"What's all this about, Nat?" Steve asked cautiously, becoming increasingly aware that this situation was going nowhere good. 

The red-haired woman licked her lips before she spoke. "So you won't even try to deny it? I loved him, Steve. What kind of hero crushes another man's heart with a gift he wouldn't even have, if not for the other man? What kind of man are you?" 

"He attacked me," Steve tried to explain. "It was all in self-defense. He was an arrogant jerk, as always." 

"It was no secret he had an ego," she snapped. "But he was more than that. He was my fiancé, your friend, and he was a damn hero. Neither of us would be standing here today without him." She paused as she tightened her fingers around the weapon concealed in her jacket, feeling the gold of her ring press against the metal of the handle. "Tony Stark was ten times the man that you will ever be." 

Steve sighed as he moved his hand back a bit, to grip the doorknob. "Is that all you came here for? To tell me off?" 

She shook her head, a small cruel smile smearing across her lips. "No, I have a job to do. A promise I made to someone once." She began to slowly pull the gun from her pocket. "If I can't protect someone, I'll be f*cking sure to avenge them." 

\--- 

The events around the disappearance of Steve Rogers were strange, to say the least. 

No body was ever found. No clues as to who had done it. No reasonable motive. It was an unsolvable mystery. 

Given the man's state as a fugitive, the only reason they knew it was him was because someone in a motel had called the authorities about a gunshot. They had found leftover blood on the ground, tested it, and realized it the rogue hero. By the time they arrived, whoever had killed him was long gone. No footage of their arrival, no footage of their departure. A ghost. 

But Natasha knew what had happened to him, and she was slightly surprised no one had figured it out. An assassin, who never takes vacation, suddenly leaves for a week and returns just as the news of a war criminal's murder is reaching the public. 

The only one that suspected something was Clint, and as soon as he saw the news, he caught the first flight to where he knew Natasha would be. 

When she heard to knock on her door, she knew who it was, and she knew why he had come. She had been expecting it, really, but she had no intention of apologizing. As soon as she opened the door to her motel room in Italy, Clint Barton stomped inside, and she shut the door behind him. 

"Would you like anything to drink?" she asked, skipping formalities as she gestured to the small mini-fridge containing a few types of soda. 

The archer in front of her didn't reply. "What did you do, Tasha?" It wasn't a question he needed answered. 

"What needed to be done." 

"The body..." he began quietly. "What did you do with the body." Natasha grinned a bit cruelly, but didn't reply. "Where is he, Natasha?" 

She stepped towards him confidently, expression unwavering. "It's everywhere." Clint was clearly puzzled by her expression, so she continued. "I took it outside the city, and I burned it to ash. Let it blow away in the wind." 

The man noticed the expression on her face, and realized something. "And you don't regret it at all. Isn't that what you said you despised to much? That he had no regrets." 

"I regret it every second of every day," Natasha snapped. "He was my friend. I trusted him. I believed in him." She felt a tear run down her cheek; the first tear she'd shed since before the death of Steve Rogers. "But he abused my trust. He killed the man I love." 

She wasn't crying because she lost him, or even because she killed him. She was crying because her delusion of who he was shattered the truth of the matter. He wasn't a hero; he wasn't the saint everyone made him out to be. Steve Rogers was a living incarnation of the devil. 

"Would you like something to drink?" she asked again, leaning down and pulling out a small plastic water bottle. 

Her hands didn't shake as she handed the drink to her friend. 

Her hands didn't shake when she packed her small bag for the trip to Hong Kong. 

Her hands didn't shake when she knocked on the door of the motel room. 

And her hands didn't shake when she put the bullet between Steve Rogers’ eyes.


End file.
